Talisman

Goddess, Part Two

Dear Reader,

This is Part Two of the Goddess story.

A hush fell over our small group as the men from the art store helped move the heavy package containing the painting into the living room. The men said they had sandwiched the wood-framed painting with its glass front between two sturdy cardboard supports, inserted that into a larger cardboard sleeve, and then cello-taped the entirety with so much tape that there was probably no more tape left in the entire city. They nudged the coffee table out of the way and placed the package on the floor, leaning it against the suede couch in the living room. It was dark outside, and I remember the harsh whiteness of the tube lights in the living room, the occasional sound of a car horn from the busy road in front of the house, and the jittery feeling running through me as though I had inserted my index finger into an electrical outlet that wasn’t adequately grounded. As it was growing late, the men from the store left almost immediately after, and we gathered around the package.

We’d told the rest of the family that we’d bought a painting and that it was going to be delivered in the evening. But we hadn’t really gone into any detail, or prepared them for the magnificence that was the painting. For my part, I hadn’t said much because I didn’t know if the painting would actually arrive. I’m sure you can relate. When things consistently, for months, have not been going your way, you learn not to take anything for granted, not even the arrival of something you arrange delivery for. Instead you shift into a kind of observer mode and watch, with braced (and terrified) fascination, what new turn life is going to take next.

The painting with the Goddess had arrived home.

One of us went to get a pair of scissors while the others picked at the tape. Even as we worked to remove the cardboard packaging, I remember wondering if this meant that things were going to be okay. That’s what it meant, right, because look who was here. Did it mean that we had turned a corner, and the worst was behind us?

With the careful removal of each layer of packaging, more of the painting emerged. Finally, the Goddess in the painting was fully visible. There was a moment of awe-struck silence followed by exclamations of joy. Everyone said they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. They said they felt honored to behold such beauty and power and grace. Sometimes their voices tapered off mid-sentence, and some felt moved to tears. I felt my mood slowly, cautiously, reach for change. Surely it meant something if we got to bring the painting home.

The store owner and his team had done a great job. The glass had been replaced. The gold in the painting gleamed. You know how some colors speak to you at some primal level? That’s how the red appeared, as though I knew that red from long ago, and now we were finally reunited. But it was the eyes that held you spellbound. Looking into those eyes made me feel that after months of drowning in stress, anxiety, and hopelessness, a disembodied hand suddenly reached in, pulled me out, and placed me on dry ground. The power of it was disorienting.

We were in the middle of a move and so just as quickly as we unpacked it, we had to place the cardboard buttresses back and repack the painting. We stored it carefully in the front room, making sure it was safe and well-supported. But even with it placed inside the cardboard wrappers and tucked away safely, I think we were all aware of the painting’s presence. It would be another six months before the painting was hung.

The store owner hadn’t been sure if it was a new painting or an antique, and that added further mystery. I imagined the painting traveling across time and lands, extending grace and support to those who needed it. I marveled at its agency. In our case, the arrival of the painting did mark a turning point. It felt like it wasn’t coincidental that slowly yet steadily, the stuck situations in our life improved. The painting became both talisman and alchemical crucible, one that I went to repeatedly with my hopes and fears and had them transformed into courage. The painting still hangs in my parents’ home in India.

There are so many things to unpack here: the talismanic power of an image that you are drawn to, the inherent power within a powerful image or symbol, and powerful images as portals that allow entry into the mysteries of the Universe.

Dear Reader, I’d love to know your thoughts on all of this.

Best,

Priya

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